Having completed a poem about heaven's perspective as Christ suffered and died for each of us, I decided to write this poem from Mary's point of view as she witnessed the crucifixion of her son.
My Son
My son, it's hard to realize, the time has almost come.
Your mission here upon the earth is nearly almost done.
I cannot bear to see the babe, I cradled in my arms,
Be subject to such wickedness, as these men do you harm.
Though I know this must come to pass, why must you bear this cross?
Why is there not another man, to spare this mother's loss?
Oh, how I wish there was a path, whereby all could be saved,
That spared me from this agony, to place you in a grave.
How will I live without you here, how will I carry on?
Oh, may I have your Spirit near, to bless me when you're gone.
My son, I am so proud of you, and all you have fulfilled!
I'm grateful I have had a hand, to see your kingdom built.
My son, as you depart from me, with you shall go my heart,
As I look forward to that day when we no more shall part.